And again, a wretched one-roomed cottage in the same row of hovels, kitchen, bedroom, and living-room in one, mud-floored, the outer door opening into it, the bed at the back, and an old husband and wife, crippled with rheumatism, sitting opposite each other on a day of pouring rain, shivering in the damp and the draughts.

Then, driving these out—­the face of Colonel Barton with its blunt, stupid kindliness, and that whole group at Duddon, welcoming the new man, believing in him, ready to help him, with the instinctive trust of honest folk.

And last, but flashing through all the rest, Lydia’s eyes—­the light in them—­and the tones of her voice—­“You’ll do it!—­you’ll do it!—­you’ll set it all right!”

He perfectly realized at that moment—­before the brain had begun to refine on the situation—­what was asked of him.  He was to be Melrose’s tool and accomplice in all that Melrose’s tyrannical caprice chose to do with the lives of human beings; he was to forfeit the respect of good men; he was to make an enemy of Harry Tatham; and he was to hurt—­and possibly alienate—­Lydia.

And the price of it was a million.

He rose rather heavily to his feet, and gathered up his papers—­a slim and comely figure amid the queer medley of the room.

“I must have some time to think about what you have said to me, Mr. Melrose.  You’ve taken my breath away—­you won’t be surprised at that.”

Melrose smiled grimly.

“Not at all.  That’s natural!  Very well then—­we meet to-morrow morning.  Before eleven o’clock the will must be either signed—­or cancelled.  And for the present—­please!—­silence!”

They exchanged good-nights.  Melrose looked oddly after the young man, as the door closed.

“He took it well.  I suppose he’s been sitting up nights over that precious memorandum.  He was to be the popular hero, and I the ’shocking example.’  Well, he’ll get over it.  I think—­I have—­both him—­and the Medusa.  And what does the will matter to me?  Any one may have the gear, when I can’t have it.  But I’ll not be dictated to—­this side of the Styx!”

Faversham wandered out once more into the summer night.  A little path along the cliff took him down to the riverside, and he paced beside the dimly shining water, overhung by the black shadow of the woods.  When he returned to the Tower, just as the light was altering, and the chill of dawn beginning, a long process of tumultuous reflection had linked the mood of the preceding evening to the mood of this new day, and of the days that were to follow.  He had determined on his answer to Melrose; and he was exultantly sure of his power to deal with the future.  The scruples and terrors of the evening were gone.  His intelligence rose to his task.